Not Enough
by sosmitten
Summary: Episode addition for Shindig. Mal gets cleaned up after his sword fight. Written for the 2005 Bubbleficathon. MalInara


**Disclaimer**: It all belongs to Joss.

**Author's Notes**: Huge thanks to my wonderful betas, **JeSouhaite**, **marymacc**, and **Macha**. I find this fandom hugely intimidating, but they've talked me off my ledge. The request is at the end of the story.

* * *

Mal holds his hand over the stab wound as he sits in the middle of the cargo hold, surrounded by the concerned faces of the crew. "Good to know you worried, sitting here all comfortable-like," Mal says, gesturing at the seats scattered 'round the hold. The motion strains his side and he winces.

"Cap'n, you okay?" Kaylee asks anxiously. Just like her to be fretting over every little hurt.

"We should really get him to the infirmary," Inara says, and he notices her hand resting gently on his shoulder. Can't recall how long it's been there.

The overly helpful doctor jumps in, acting all in-charge, "Jayne and I can carry you up the stairs."

Mal scoffs. "Ain't no need for carrying. Dincha see me walking in just now?"

"Saw you leaning right hard on 'Nara," Kaylee responds with a knowing grin.

"That'd be me letting her show gratitude for the honor defendin'."

"Ah yes," Inara says coolly, "where would I be without your suicidal attempt?"

He knows exactly where she would be – with that _méi yòng de _dandy. Exceptin' the pain, this is preferable. He coughs and feels a stab in his side as another spurt of warm blood oozes through his fingers.

"Perhaps the infirmary's not such a bad idea after all," he says, grimacing as he tries to stand.

Inara reaches to support him, concern replacing annoyance on her face. "Easy, Mal."

He lets himself lean on her as she wraps her arm around his waist, thinking how much preferable an escort she is to Jayne. After they stumble a bit up the stairs, Inara leads him to an exam table and helps him sit.

Simon leans in to examine the oozing wound on his right side. "Is this it?"

"Yes, but he got hit on the other shoulder too." Inara points to the tear on his left sleeve.

"Jus' a nick. 'S fine," Mal slurs. He's starting to feel fuzzy. It's harder to process the words, images around him.

Inara leans in to examine the cut, pulling aside the bloody edges of the fabric with her finger. "It may be a scratch, but it's still bleeding." She's close enough that he can make out the expression on her face, which is both worried and irritated at the same time. As she dips her head, her hair falls across her face, and _zhòu mà_, why does she have to smell so good?

Mal looks away, needing a distraction. He turns toward one of the blurry shapes and the indistinct edges sharpen into Simon's features. 'Nother shadow in the background, and Mal can tell it's Kaylee from the way that she's rattling off anxious questions to Simon.

"We've got to stop the bleeding here first," Simon says, still poking and prying at Mal's side. "Inara, can you help him get his shirt off while I go get what I'll need for the sutures?"

If Mal weren't so woozy, he'd make a joke about the way Inara hesitates, at the uncomfortable look that crosses her face before she averts her eyes and begins unbuttoning. He's never had his shirt removed so efficiently – it's almost business-like, though given her business maybe that's not an appropriate description. The distraction of his thoughts and the slowness of his brain make him almost able to ignore the fact that her hands are brushing down his chest.

Almost.

Once the shirt is completely unbuttoned, Inara pauses for a moment.

"Okay there, Inara?" He can hear Kaylee's teasing grin in the tone of her voice.

If it weren't for the pesky blood loss he could be enjoying this situation a good deal more, because he could swear that Inara flushes. In any case, she stumbles with her response, "A..um..there's quite a bit of blood here. I think this cut was deeper than you thought, Mal. Kaylee?" she asks, stepping back to where Kaylee's standing to whisper instructions. He only catches bits of what she's saying.

Having been given a task, Kaylee gives a serious nod and hurries off.

The bit of activity seems to have focused Inara on the task at hand, and she asks, "Simon, do you have a basin, something I can use for water? And a rag?"

He can only wonder for a moment what she's sent Kaylee off for before the doctor returns with his instruments. Simon gives him an injection of some kind that numbs his right side and begins stitching the wound closed. Inara watches with a thoughtful expression, then sets down the basin next to him, hesitating before speaking. "Is it bad?" she asks, gesturing to his side.

"Based on the hurt, I'd say it went a mite deep," Mal says, his voice thick and slow.

"I was asking the doctor," she says, a touch snippy.

"How would he know? 'S my gut the sword went into."

Inara just gives him an exasperated look and turns to Simon, who responds with a small shrug, "He's right. It is deep, but none of the vital organs were hit, so he'll be fine once the wound heals."

Mal can't help responding, "See, like I said."

Inara gives him a wry look but then turns when Kaylee rushes in. She's carrying a box that looks like it would hold about one of his boots, or maybe two pairs of fancy lady shoes. Inara mumbles, "_Xiè-xiè_," and looks into the box, holding a few unidentifiable spheres to her nose before selecting one and putting the lid back on the box. She drops the ball into the basin of water and it begins fizzing.

"Whassat?" he asks, curious. Then the scent hits him and he wrinkles his nose in suspicion. It smells like trees, and herbs, and he wonders if that's what's making him even more woozy.

"It's just to help clean the blood."

"Why's it smell like that?"

"To relax you – and the herbs will help with the healing."

Before he can mock her intentions, she leans in again with her good-smellingness and his thoughts go all awry. The doctor's just finished his stitching and walked off into the blurriness and Inara begins dabbing around the wound. Mal's still numb so he can't feel her cleaning, but he watches her delicate fingers and he has to admit she was right – there is a lot of blood. Some of it has dried and she scrubs harder, reaching to brace herself on his shoulder. The feel of her fingers surprises and unsettles him, 'specially after the numbness near his hip. It's making it all but impossible to ignore the soft strands of hair brushing against his chest and the way her lips are pursed with the effort of her task. He shifts unconsciously.

"Did that hurt? Are you okay?" She asks, pulling her hand away from his side as she looks up at him. The hand with the rag falls to his knee and he can feel her leaning against his leg.

The concern in her voice and her nearness almost undoes him. Why's she have to be so pretty anyway? It's pure self-defense when he mutters, "So the bathing with the smelly fizzy balls - that a service you normally charge for? 'Cuz I'm a little short on cash just now."

Her grip on his shoulder tightens for just a moment before she turns away and walks across the room, saying under her breath, "_Wáng en fù yì__sha gua_." He can hear the anger and hurt in her voice and is not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that she's no longer beside him.

She's rinsing the rag in the sink, facing away from him for what seems like a terrible long time. Finally she lets out a defeated sigh and walks over to clean out the cut on his shoulder. Her movements are stiff but gentle and she keeps her eyes downcast.

He's not sure what kept her from walking out the door, but the fact that she didn't makes him feel like a piece of _niou-se_. She isn't usually so forgiving, and he most definitely don't deserve to have her fingers rubbing away the dirt and grime and blood from his injured body.

The air between them feels thick and silent and Mal wonders where the doctor has gotten off to. Possible that's him just outside the door. Weren't he s'posed to in here, looking after his patient, instead of listening to Kaylee prattle on? Mighta been better all around if the doctor'd taken over the wound cleaning.

"Inara, I'm-"

She cuts him off before he can even begin his apology. "_Bì zui, _Mal," she says sharply.

In a moment of rare civility, he complies, however reluctantly. She continues scrubbing in silence, pausing only once when he tenses.

"Are you okay? Did that hurt?" she asks, her voice concerned. He just shakes his head in response.

Few minutes later, she tosses the rag into the basin, carrying it over to the sink before turning to leave. He tries to judge her mood from the set of her shoulders and fails. Just as she walks past him, she glances over her shoulder with a look of amused condescension, "Do try to stay out of any fights for at least a day or two."

* * *

"_Oh, someone needs to keep Kaylee out of trouble. And all of my things are here... Besides, why would I want to leave Serenity?"_

"_Can't think of a reason."_

Mal smiles as he scans the herd of mooing cattle in the cargo hold, then looks over and sees Inara with the same amused expression. They look at each other for a beat longer than is comfortable, but he doesn't let himself turn away.

The wine, however noxious, is an apology of sorts. Her admission is an acceptance of the same sort. The moment seems worth making an admission of his own.

Inara starts to flush at his attention and looks down at where her fingers are wrapped around her cup. By way of getting back her attention, he reaches to pour her more wine. She watches it splash into the cup, but when he stops pouring she looks up and he says, "You know, if he'd won and spared me, I wouldn't have left you there."

In the same off-hand manner she'd said she could never leave Serenity, she asks, "So you'd have subjected Serenity to some hopeless rescue attempt?"

He can tell she's taken aback when he shrugs and responds all serious, "If that's what it took."

"But Mal," she insists, "it would've been my decision to make."

He looks out over the cattle again, not meeting her eyes when he says matter-of-factly, "Not if it involved me."

She's doing the same eye-averting thing when she speaks again, her voice soft but firm, "If I didn't stay…if I broke a promise, I could never work as a companion again."

It makes him just a little sick to hear the sadness in her voice at that prospect. "Don't got too much problem with that."

He's made her indignant and defensive, and just like that, they're back to where they started. "Just because you don't approve, doesn't mean you can-"

He cuts her off, his voice lower and gruffer than he'd intended, "I just couldn't let you stay there on my account."

Words hang there in the air and she doesn't respond. It's the same old argument, all dressed up in fancy society clothes. He'd thought they'd started to confront, possibly narrow this chasm between them, but whatever bridge they'd started to build had collapsed under the truth of their situation.

He'd been stabbed protecting her honor.

She'd offered to sell herself to that _yú bèn de hún dàn _to save his life.

But it still wasn't enough.

_Fin_

**Glossary:**

_méi yòng-de_– useless

_zhòu mà_ – damn

_xiè-xiè_ – thank you

_wáng en fù yì_ _sha gua_ – ungrateful idiot

_niou-se_ - cow dung

_bì zui _– shut up

_yú bèn de hún dàn _– stupid bastard

**Ficathon request:**

**Pairing**: Mal/Inara

**Bath prompt**: fizzy bath ball

**Optional prompt**: rubber ducky


End file.
